Except that this guy didn't know cat's rules. Mind was still saying, 'Hey look, fella, I'm out of this!' while body was twisting sideways as the club crashed into the ground where his head had just been with a force that sent splinters of concrete into his ear.
He tried to roll and scuffle away. He could hear a medley of noises. Voices shouting distantly. An engine approaching fast. The cavalry? Or more Indians? His desperate attempts at evasion brought him up against something solid. His blurred vision assembled it into a leg. It was wearing a biker's leather boot. He grappled with it. It was like embracing a telegraph pole except that it bucked and kicked as it tried to shake him off. Grimly he hung on. It had to be Jones, who else could have a leg like this? To let go was to die. To hang on could only be to delay matters, but at least it made it awkward for the murderous bastard to take another full-blooded swing. In fact, he didn't seem to be taking any swings at all. The voices closer now. One of them sharp, clipped, authoritative. The major! He was saved. Thank the good Lord, he was saved.
He let go of the leg and lay on his back waiting for others to take over the struggle. He doubted if even three or four of Tweedie's irregulars could deal with Jones, but at least the Welshman would probably run for it.
Only he didn't. He stood there removing his bright red helmet. Yes, it was Starbright, no doubt about that. What was his plan, to kill the whole lot of them? And he could probably do it. He tried to shout out a warning to the major, but the old fool was kneeling down beside him, exposing his back and head to the full fury of Jones's attack.
'How're you doing, soldier?' said Sholto Tweedie.
'Not a soldier,' croaked Joe. 'Look out behind you!'
That's the spirit. Bit of a pantomime, eh? Just take it easy till I get things sorted.'
The major stood up and said, 'Well done, my man. Good job you happened along. Pity you couldn't have got a hold of the blighter though.'
'Would have done,' said Starbright, 'if this tosser hadn't got a hold of me? How's he doing?'
'Bit of bleeding from the head. Better call the bone-cart.'
'No,' said Joe. 'No ambulance. Arrest him. He attacked me.'
'Sorry, old chap, you're getting confused. Saw it all from level two. Fellow knocking hell out of you. Too far away to do anything but shout. Then our friend here comes roaring up on his bike, chap trying to smash your head with what looked like a mashie-niblick takes off, and our friend here would have gone after him if you hadn't tackled him round the knees. Brave but a bit counterproductive. Now I'll see about that ambulance.'
'No,' said Joe again. 'Get me up to Beryl's ... she'll take a look.'
'Miss Boddington. Of course. Trained nurse, just the ticket. But if she says ambulance, no argument.'
Joe got to his feet, staggered and would have fallen if the strong right arm of Starbright Jones hadn't steadied him. He tried to push it away but even at full strength, he'd have had a problem. So, comforting himself with the pragmatic thought that having Jones hang on to him was as good as him hanging on to the Welshman, he let himself be guided into the lift and up to Beryl's floor.
Eighteen.
The Lost Traveller's Guide says:
'The citizens of Luton are natural Samaritans. Perhaps long exposure to trial and tribulation has made them more than averagely sensitive to the misfortunes of their fellows. If you find yourself in real trouble, knock on any door, and in nine cases out of ten help with be forthcoming. Of course, in the tenth case, you will probably be brought to a realization that your previous trouble was inconsequential in the extreme.'
Anyone knocking at Beryl Boddington's door would have thought they had arrived at the court of the Queen of Samaria.
Confronted by the bruised and bleeding figure of Joe Sixsmith, all she said was, 'Oh Joe, the things you'll do for a bit of sympathy.' Then she made him lie down on her bed with a towel under his head while she examined and cleaned his scalp wound. His shoulder was throbbing painfully but movement had returned to his arm. After a couple of painful tests she announced she didn't think anything was broken.
'And with that thick skull of yours, I doubt if there's anything cracked there either. But better safe than sorry. Let's get you down to the infirmary for X-rays. Also you'll need a couple of stitches. And how's your tetanus status?'
'All right there. Got done when the Morris got wrecked.'
He didn't want to go to hospital but the arrival of Aunt Mirabelle, alerted by one of her spies, persuaded him.
'What've you been up to now, Joseph? Dripping blood all over that nice new carpet of Beryl's. When are you going to put all this nonsense behind you and get yourself a real job again? Haven't you heard, this recess thing is just about over, heard a man on the telly say so the other night, soon going to be jobs for everyone that wants them, no excuse to be playing at chasing gangsters any more, what do you say, Beryl?'
'I say we ought to be off to Casualty. Mirabelle, could you stay here to look after Desmond?'
Joe shot her a glance full of admiration and gratitude. With her skills of management and diplomacy she ought to be Queen.
Starbright helped Joe down to the car and showed no sign of wanting to make good his escape. Joe was beginning to admit reluctantly that maybe he'd got it wrong. The other vigilantes all agreed with the major that the Welshman was his saviour, though they couldn't achieve a similar unanimity in their descriptions of his attacker, who ranged from a tall thin man in a brown overcoat to a medium-sized fat man in a gaberdine. But all agreed he wore a hat of some kind and was masked. 'Sort of whitish,' said the major. I'd say a ski mask.' 'More like a cream-coloured balaclava,' said one of the others. 'No,' said a third. 'It was a scarf wound round to hide his face.'
One for the police to sort out. Joe's passage through the Casualty sausage machine was expedited by Beryl's presence and he was stitched up and confirmed bruised, bloody but unbroken, in record time. He gave a statement to a uniformed constable he didn't know and did nothing to correct the assumption that it was a routine mugging with robbery as the sole motive. The hospital waiting room, with Beryl, the major and Starbright in close
